


Halo of the Dark

by tvlerblack



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Demons and Ghosts, M/M, ghost story tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvlerblack/pseuds/tvlerblack
Summary: Seth is being haunted by a violent ghost, and unknowingly falls for the demon who’s been protecting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot Halloween fic, but it’s going to be long and I probably won’t finish it before Halloween, so I figured what the hell, I’ll just split it into two parts.
> 
> Enjoy!

Halloween night, and the full moon glimmered behind tattered dark veils of cloud. There was just enough of a steady wind to howl mournfully around the eaves of old houses and stir the trees into murmuring secretively amongst themselves. The air was chill, and the dark hung heavy as a curtain around the streetlights. Mother Nature, it seemed, was in the seasonal mood just like everyone else.

Witches and ghosts and fairies and all manner of other ghouls and fantastical creatures capered down the sidewalks in noisy groups, flitting from house to house in search of tricks or treats, screaming and laughing dutifully at the spooky props set up in people’s lawns and porches. Seth maneuvered among them in the solid black pseudo-S.W.A.T gear he, Dean, and Roman had chosen for their costumes this year, along with the skeletal half-masks Dean had brought for them to wear. The masks didn’t really go with the rest of the get-up but Dean had seen them in some retail store or another before he’d arrived at Xavier’s party and according to him he had thought they’d be perfect. They were pretty awesome, Seth had had to admit. He had put on his sweatshirt to stave off the autumnal chill, the hood pulled up, his gloved hands in his pockets. He felt weirdly spectral, a shadow in the dark, a presence barely registered by those around him. He wasn’t drunk but he was pleasantly buzzed and hyped up on too much sugar and the spirit of the season.

Xavier Woods, a friend and fellow student who was also graduating this year, had, along with his roommates Kofi and Langston, who insisted everyone call him Big E—Seth had no idea what the man’s actual name was—thrown an extravagant Halloween party tonight. Normally Seth avoided the whole party scene and so did Roman and Dean, his two best friends, but they were all graduating next semester, the end of the long winding road of college was finally in sight, and Dean had suggested they just enjoy the ride.

Xavier had really gone all out. He, E, and Kofi lived in a big old colonial style house and Xavier had wrapped pretty much the entire edifice in gossamer spider webs peppered with huge rubbery spiders that looked unsettlingly real from a distance. Jack-o-Lanterns lined the walkway to the house and grinned insidiously from the railing of the porch. Two plastic skeletons hung from nooses from the porch’s roof on either side on the entryway. Kind of morbid, that, Seth had thought. The lawn had been turned into a mock graveyard full of crooked fake gravestones marked with cutesy witticisms like _I’ll Be Back_ and _Beneath this stone my wife doth lie, now she’s at rest and so am I._ Inside the house was decked out in jack-o-lanterns and candles, all the other lights off, creepy instrumental music echoing through the rooms, interrupted occasionally by recordings of low, sinister laughter, witch-like cackling, and high-pitched screams, giving the whole place a macabre atmosphere. Xavier had even set up bobbing for apples and at one point they had all gotten together to do a Thriller dance. Dean, very drunk by that point, had toppled over onto his face and got Roman, who was also very drunk by that point, laughing so hard he also toppled onto his face.

The party was still going on and probably would until the wee hours, weekday or not, but Seth had elected to leave early. He had a test in one of his classes tomorrow and he intended to get some real sleep tonight. Dean had pouted and called him a nerd and a killjoy, practically begging him to stay until Roman had shoved a bowl of candy at him and distracted him long enough so Seth could slip away.

There was another reason he had abandoned the party and his friends early, although he already felt a bit silly about it now, walking the streets surrounded by excited kids and teenagers in their costumes, swinging around their bags or plastic pumpkins full of candy. The guy wearing the bright floral shirt and fedora had probably been just a friend of Xavier’s or maybe someone dragged there by someone else, hanging out on the fringes of the party, idly watching all the drunk college students let loose and make asses of themselves. The fact Seth had felt like the guy was staring right at _him_ , like the guy was following him, Dean, and Roman through the house, his small dark eyes fixed intently on Seth the entire time, was probably just a side-effect of Xavier’s ridiculously elaborate set-up and the tenebrosity of the whole place that gave it a genuinely creepy feel underneath the over-the-top nonsense of it all. That the guy with the long, greasy hair and weird, seemingly perpetual grin who always appeared to be standing perfectly still and staring straight at Seth was never there when Seth tried to point him out to either Dean or Roman, but reappeared as soon as Seth was separated from the other two, should probably be less unsettling and more proof that it was just coincidence and the guy wasn’t actually following him around. In the end his decision to leave had been down to his desire to sleep and be ready for his test tomorrow, but the guy had started to really freak him out.

He shivered in a cold gust of wind as he turned down the street to the campus. There were fewer trick-or-treaters down this street. Before long Seth found himself entirely alone, walking through the dark under a full moon on All Hallow’s Eve. He grinned, but the face of that strange man from the party now seemed burned into his vision like a ghost-image. Those unblinking eyes that hardly seemed to be eyes at all, just black holes in the man’s face, and that smile, hollow and unchanging as the grin of a skull. He had looked more like one of the Halloween props Xavier had set up around the house than a live human being.

It seemed darker, suddenly, despite the lights of the houses and ubiquitous streetlamps. Seth glanced up and saw the moon had disappeared, swallowed by black clouds. It seemed suddenly very quiet, too. The crunch of dead leaves and hollow thud of concrete under his feet, the rhythmic susurration of his breaths—these sounds were magnified, somehow, echoing queerly, like he was walking through fog.

He shifted his gaze back ahead and stopped dead.

Someone was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, facing the street, still as a statue. They were just outside the circle of pallid artificial light cast by the streetlamp, so Seth saw them only in silhouette. There was something familiar about the shape of it, and Seth’s breath caught on a thorn of fear.

Maybe he had been right about the man from the party after all. Maybe he had been watching Seth, following him.

The silhouette turned and raised its head, very slowly. Just as slowly, the rest of its body turned as well. It took a few ponderous, deliberate steps forward, into the streetlamp’s orb of light. The man regarded him, hair hanging in dark tangles over his face, his eyes like murky pools, waxy skin stretched in that mad empty grin.

Seth took a step back. His skin had turned to ice. It felt like his heart had, too. The man raised his hand, palm upward. His fingers furled and unfurled in languorous motions. Beckoning.

“Follow the buzzards,” the man said, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was standing inches from Seth. Seth cried out and stumbled back. The man caught his arm, his grip like a vice, tightening and tightening. The temperature of the air plummeted, until Seth’s breath came out in diaphanous puffs of white. It was as if he had plunged into a pool of arctic water.

“Follow the _buzzards_ ,” the man whispered, frantic, eyes bulging, and burst into hysterical guffaws. Seth, really panicking now, tried to break away, lashing out with his free hand and trying to kick at the man’s legs, but all the strength seemed to have gone from his freezing body and the man just kept laughing, appearing not to feel a single blow. He jerked Seth toward him, until their noses were almost touching. His breath smelled vaguely of rot. His voice dropped to that urgent, almost desperate whisper again. “Come to me.”

The streetlight started to flicker. The temperature of the air began to rise. The acrid scent of smoke and the pungent odor of rotten eggs washed over Seth. The clouds parted and the moon shone in insensate pale brilliance, as bright as the sun, it seemed. The wind rose, blowing down Seth’s hood and whipping the man’s hair back from his face. His eyes were widening and widening. His grip on Seth loosened and Seth managed to wrench free, tumbling right down on his ass on the sidewalk.

Something was behind him. He could feel it, an inferno, huge and looming. A gentle weight settled on his shoulders. Hands held him, protective. Its power thrummed through him like electricity, seared his skin like cold iron. Something soft and cottony fell over his head and his vision was obscured so he could barely see the waxy-faced man anymore, but he saw the man’s expression of abject terror and unspeakable delight, a terrible dissonance that made the man’s face work like he was trying to scream and laugh at the same time.

There was a _hiss_ , like some great cat, and then the thing behind Seth leapt right over him and landed in front of him in a crouch. It lunged at the wax-faced man, and the man recoiled. He did begin to laugh, then, or maybe he was screaming, it was hard to tell, because his face still couldn’t seem to settle on one emotion. The thing in front of Seth stood up, muscles rippling like a panther, and it held out its hand, palm turned outward. There was a great rush of air that whipped up the leaves in a hurricane spiral and forced Seth to duck his head behind his arms in an instinctive attempt to protect himself. When he looked up again, the laughing wax-faced man was gone.

The thing still standing there in the brilliant moonlight was a man, or at least had the shape of one, slender and athletic. It had its back to Seth; after a breathless moment it turned to face him, and Seth drew back with a little gasp. The man—if it was a man—was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only jeans and what seemed to be some sort of headdress, long tassels billowing around his torso in the steady breeze. His skin was black as coal, but his skeleton, or the imprint of his skeleton, was visible in glimmering whiteness just underneath his flesh, so Seth could see the movement of bones under the ripple of muscles as the thing moved. His eyes were pallid and translucent and shone like pools of captured moonlight.

He kneeled, a quick, graceful motion. Seth seemed paralyzed, captivated. The man’s fingers ghosted over Seth’s hair, barely a touch. His presence seemed to wrap around Seth like a blanket, heavy and comforting.  

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice hardly more than the stirring of the leaves in the autumn breeze, and then he was gone, too. And Seth was left alone sitting on the sidewalk, staring into the darkness of the Halloween night as the clouds once more rolled in to blot out the full moon’s glow.  

***

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Roman reached up and pressed a hand to Seth’s forehead, his face pinched with worry. “You feel a bit feverish. Maybe you should just go rest for the rest of the day.”

Seth swatted him away with an exaggerated look of annoyance. “Yes, _Mom_ , I’m _fine_.” He paused, and then amended, “I do feel a little sick, but I took some Advil earlier and I feel okay. Just didn’t sleep all that well last night.” He stood up, picked up his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, studiously ignoring the flare of pain this caused in his right forearm. “I gotta get to class. Teacher has an aneurysm every time someone is a minute late.”

Roman still looked worried, but he nodded and stood up as well. He glanced at his phone and sighed. “Dean didn’t text me back. I’d better go make sure he gets his ass out of bed. Being hungover isn’t an acceptable excuse to be absent.”

Seth snorted a laugh, grateful for the normalcy of it. For a moment he felt steadier, clearer. “Remind him he needs these classes to graduate. He chose to get smashed, he needs to deal with the consequences. Anyway, thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you later.” He sketched a salute with the styrofoam cup, they bumped fists, and then they both departed the café and went their separate ways.

It was a cliché, but Seth had always liked autumn best—the cool, crisp air, the riot of color of the trees against the pale skies, the skeletal fingers of bare branches, the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. The seasonal cycles were no longer so perfectly defined even in this part of the world, but autumn still blazed through in all its poetic glory, a colorful prologue to the uniform white of winter. Today the sky was clear, the sun blindingly bright but robbed of most of its heat. The coffee did little to help Seth warm up, or to make him feel more awake, more… _there_.

He had felt strange all morning. He had awoken certain everything had been a dream, that he had left Xavier’s party, gone back to the dorms without incident, and had a very odd and very vivid nightmare. He couldn’t remember getting back to campus, couldn’t remember anything from the moment the man-thing with the pale eyes had touched his hair and told him not to be afraid, couldn’t remember how he had ended up back in his own bed. But it didn’t matter. It had all been a dream. A terrible nightmare, induced by too much candy, alcohol, and general Halloween nonsense. There was a tremendous relief in that knowledge.

Getting out of bed had been difficult, because his head was spinning and his legs felt like they had turned to rubber. Briefly, he had thought he would vomit, but somehow he’d managed to stumble to the bathroom without either collapsing or tossing up whatever remained in his stomach. It was in the shower that he had noticed the bruises on his arm, shaped like fingers. Like someone had grabbed him and clung to him very, very hard.

A haze seemed to hang over the world like a thin veil, obscuring everything just slightly, making normal shapes and sounds seem just a little off, just a little surreal. He felt light-headed, his thoughts sluggish and diffuse, and it had been hard to focus on his morning class. He had barely been able to eat anything with the creeping feeling of nausea that never quite went away, and the lack of food wasn’t helping. He did feel like he was coming down with something. He felt exhausted, too, like he hadn’t really slept much at all last night.

He usually took the long way around the building where the café was located, following the path that led past the agricultural building with its large greenhouse and all its little gardens, twisting through the cluster of flowering trees that were tended by the staff and students. He bypassed the trees this time, cutting across the sloping lawn on the other side of the agricultural building. Typically there would be a few other students scattered across the lawn, reading or working on homework underneath the old maples, but it was a bit too cold for that today, and in the few moments the building completely cut off the view of the rest of the campus Seth might have been all alone except for the voices of students that carried on the breeze.

A sudden harsh cry cut through the air and he jumped, nearly dropping his coffee. He whipped around at the sound of a great _whoosh_ of wings just in time to see a large black shape take flight from the roof of the building. It swooped down with startling speed, and Seth stumbled back with a shout, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his back. The cup flew out of his hand and exploded in the grass. The bird—a turkey vulture, all huge black wings and small bright-red head—came so close the tip of its wing ghosted across Seth’s face, then it veered upward and took off. Seth stared after it, wide-eyed and stunned.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he managed, his voice not quite steady. He scrambled up into a sitting position, falling back a little on his hands as the world tilted suddenly onto its side. His stomach rolled and he was absolutely certain he was going to puke, but somehow he didn’t.

_Follow the buzzards._

A chill touched the base of his spine, racing upward, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and hard little bumps on the flesh of his arms. Unconsciously, he reached over to grip his bruised forearm. There was a large black feather lying in the grass at his feet.

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

Seth spun around, a scream trembling on the edge of his lips that died when he saw who had spoken. It was another student, looking at Seth, alarmed and concerned. “Did that bird just _attack_ you?” the boy asked, sounding baffled, glancing skyward as he approached Seth and crouched down next to him. “Jesus. You all right?”

Seth just stared at him, his breath coming in harsh gasps in time with his racing heart. The boy looked familiar, although Seth could not have said from where. He was of about average height and maybe a few years older than Seth, with short dark hair and startling blue eyes. He was fit, and moved with a kind of unthinking grace. He spoke with a distinct Irish accent. He was wearing black jeans, a black hoodie, and a Lego Batman t-shirt, and he was the only thing that didn’t look blurry and vaguely unreal, standing out starkly against the misty veil that seemed to have fallen over the world. Especially his eyes; they shone like gemstones, clear, crystal blue.

“I—” Seth struggled to speak, his heart in his throat, his head spinning. “I—I’m fine.” He swallowed, thickly, and drew himself up straighter. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand over them, taking in a deep, shuddering breath and then letting it out again. When he lowered his hand, everything seemed a little bit steadier.

The boy studied him, brow furrowed. “You sure? You don’t look so good, man.”

“I’m—” Seth took in another breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “I’m all right. Just need a minute.”

The boy sat down cross-legged next to him, regarding him with those striking eyes. _Irish eyes_ , Seth thought, and a little giggle bubbled out. It turned into a hiccup, which made him giggle again. God, he was dizzy. He thought if he tried to stand right now he’d just fall down again. Picturing that made him laugh harder.

Irish Eyes smiled, looking bemused. “What’s so funny?”

He had no idea what the fuck was going on, if his awful dream last night had actually been a dream at all, and a turkey vulture had just flown into his face, _that_ was what was so funny, but he didn’t tell Irish Eyes that, just shook his head helplessly. He was scared, he realized then, he was scared and he just didn’t know what to think.

Irish Eyes was silent for a long moment. Seth focused on breathing—inhale, exhale, repeat—until the pounding of his heart began to slow and some semblance of normalcy returned. The haze over his vision seemed to have cleared, a little. He no longer felt quite so light-headed, and his stomach seemed to have settled. He almost felt like himself again.

“You’re Seth, right?” Irish Eyes’ voice startled him; he had half-forgotten the boy was there.

Seth blinked at him. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, I’m Seth. I’m sorry, have we—?”

“Ah.” Irish Eyes grinned, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m Finn, Finn Balor. We’re in Veterinary Microbiology and Animal Health together. We were in a couple classes together last semester, too. We’ve, uh, actually been in a lot of classes together over the last couple years. I think we’re going for the same thing.”

“Oh,” Seth said lamely. It explained why the kid looked familiar.

The silence between them was awkward, suddenly. Seth studied the boy, frowning slightly. Finn studied him in return. The wind picked up briefly, rattling the decayed and decaying leaves around them and blowing curls that had escaped Seth’s loose bun into his face. He brushed them away with an absent swipe of his hand.

“You sure you’re okay?” Finn asked presently, faint furrows cutting into his brow again. “You really don’t look so hot. You live in the dorms, right? Maybe you should just go rest.”

He was probably right, but Seth shook his head. “I have a test in my next class. Maybe after that—Oh!” He started, eyes widening. “What time is it?” He pulled his phone out from his pocket. 11:05, it informed him. He groaned. “I’m already late.” He tried to stand up, but his legs were disinclined to support him. He nearly collapsed, but Finn, quick as a cat, jumped to his feet and caught Seth around the waist, keeping him on his feet. Seth sagged against Finn, instinctively grabbing on to the other man’s shoulder. He muttered a curse and something that was supposed to be an apology, trying to pull away. Finn held him firm, taking Seth’s arm and gently coaxing him back down to the ground.

“You should probably just sit down for a bit,” he advised, and Seth found he had little choice but to acquiesce. The warmth of Finn’s body was welcoming against the chill of the air. He was absurdly sorry when Finn drew back and released him.

Seth rubbed his face, hard. _Get a fucking grip, jackass,_ he scolded himself, and then, bewildered, _What the hell is wrong with me?_

“You party too hard last night or what?” It was a good-natured attempt at a joke, but it made Seth tense. Behind his closed eyelids he saw the man with the waxy face and terrible grin, the man who had been following him, the man who had grabbed his arm.

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, not meaning it to come out as harsh as it did. Finn’s humor faded. He looked abashed, which made Seth feel like an asshole. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean—I just feel like crap, is all. Had a bad dream last night. A really, really bad dream. I don’t think I got much sleep.”

Finn nodded, sympathetic. “Halloween can do that to people, sometimes. It’s a strange time of year.”

Seth didn’t respond. He had never been one for superstition or the supernatural. Horror movie nonsense. The big black feather of the turkey vulture had been picked up by the wind and carried to where his coffee cup was lying in the grass. When Seth looked at it, pain flared in his forearm where the inexplicable hand-shaped bruise branded his skin. He winced and looked quickly away. The pain faded.

Seth glanced at his phone again. He let out a sigh and tried, once more, to get to his feet. Finn stood up with him, ready to catch him again, and for a moment the situation was in doubt, but this time Seth managed to keep his balance. When he was certain he wasn’t going to topple over, he bent to retrieve his backpack, brushing dirt and leaves off it before he eased it onto his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said, turning to Finn. “Really, thanks. I should get going.”

Finn regarded him, seeming to debate with himself. After a moment, he said, “Why don’t I walk with you? I mean, if you don’t mind. I’ve got nowhere to be for a while.”

“Uh—sure.” There was something about this boy, something in the shape of his body and the way he moved, that bothered Seth, but he couldn’t figure out why. There was something… _familiar_ , not about him but about the contours of his body and the fluidity of his motions. It was odd and vaguely unsettling, but Finn’s smile was warm and sunny and it made him feel more at ease, somehow. He offered his own small smile in return.

***

They walked in silence for a bit. It was a little awkward, but Finn had an easy way about him, like this was perfectly natural, that made it less awkward than it might have been. As they passed through the doors into the science building, Finn inquired, “You were at Xavier’s party, right? I thought I saw you there.”

Seth looked at him, surprised. “Yeah, I was there. You were, too?”

“Yeah.” Finn grinned. “I was all covered in paint. I was supposed to look like Venom.”

“Paint?”

“Yeah, you know, like face-paint. It’s kind of a hobby of mine. I remember, you were with that guy who went splat during the Thriller dance.”

Seth laughed, and it felt good, made him feel slightly better, clearer. “That was Dean. He’s just…like that.” Seth almost asked him if he had seen the man in the floral shirt and fedora, the man with the skull’s grin. He didn’t. Another wave of dizziness hit him and he staggered. Finn reached out and grabbed his arm, looking alarmed.

“You okay?” It seemed like the thousandth time he’d asked. His touch was very warm. Seth stayed on his feet somehow, closing his eyes until the world righted itself again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It seemed like the thousandth time he’d had to say that. Gently, he pulled his arm free. “I think I might just go back to my room after this stupid test, though.”

***

_The faint rustling of the curtains was the only sound, rising and falling with the whims of the breeze. It was soothing, like the caress of that breeze across his bare skin, through his hair. Steadily, it began to rise, to change, until it became a continuous stream of whispers just on the edge of hearing. Gradually, words seemed to form, unintelligible at first._

Follow.

_A cold pressure settled down on Seth’s shoulder. Slivers of ice pierced every inch of his skin. His body convulsed and he tried to squirm away from that awful weight, but something was holding him in place, implacable._

Follow. _Louder, more insistent._

_He wanted to scream, but he seemed to have no voice. The whispers swirled around his head in a lunatic hurricane of rising, reverberating sound._

Follow the buzzards.

_Then a warm rush of air blew through, scattered the whispers like so many fallen leaves. With it came the acrid scent of smoke and the stench of rotten eggs (sulfur, some small part of him realized). The pain and the cold pressure vanished as quickly as they had come. Blissful silence wrapped around him._

_There was a different, lighter touch on his shoulder, and then it, too, was gone._

***

In a corner of the library was a section with six lounge chairs arranged in twos in front of one of the big windows. Seth plopped down on one of those closest to the window, propped his feet up on the footrest, and put in his headphones. It was Friday, and his one morning class was done. He had come in here intending to get some homework done, but when he got here he found he was too mentally exhausted even to try. He should probably go back to his room, but Dean would be there, and maybe Roman would be, too. They would probably ask more questions. _Are you all right? You sure? You still look kinda pale._

Seth closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He _felt_ pale. Kind of…faded. It was like a little bit of the color had washed out of the world, like it had lost just a tiny bit of its essential depth, something that was almost unnoticeable. The haze that had lingered over his vision all yesterday was gone, but there was still that vague sensation of unreality, like he was walking through an endless vivid dream.

It _had_ been just a dream. A nightmare. It had to have been. That man—the grinning man—Seth had seen him at the party, and he had frightened Seth enough to make Seth leave, and clearly had left enough of an impression on Seth to become a part of an incredibly detailed, incredibly _real_ nightmare. The other—the man-thing with the pallid eyes and coal-black and bone-white skin—the thing that had saved him—who knew where _that_ had come from, but he, too, had only been a dream.

And his dream last night—the whispers—the coldness that stabbed him like tiny shards of glass—the warmth that chased it away and brought quiet and the mingled smells of smoke and sulfur—

What about the bruise on his arm, then?

Seth opened his eyes and looked down at his right arm. After a moment he pushed up the sleeve, exposing the fading yellowish bruise that was shaped like a handprint.

Had he done it to himself, in the throes of the nightmare? It was possible, he supposed. Similar things were reported to happen. The brain was powerful enough that it could make the body _think_ it had been injured when it hadn’t, or that it was in pain when there was no physical reason it should be. He’d read that somewhere, he thought. Scary to think about.

Seth shifted his arm and curled his hand loosely around his forearm, lining his fingers with the marks. They didn’t match. The hand was smaller, the fingers shorter and thicker.

Seth let his arm fall, the sleeve slipping down again, covering the bruise. He found he was unsurprised.

The library was on the second floor of the building, and it overlooked the parking lot where most of the faculty parked. Seth shifted and pressed his forehead to the window, the glass soothingly cool, and looked down at the cars and concrete. A handful of students made their unhurried way down the sidewalk. There was someone just standing on the sidewalk on the other side of the parking lot, directly in Seth’s line of sight. They were standing as still as a statue under a bare birch tree. Seth could only make out the person’s silhouette from this distance, but they seemed to be staring straight at the window Seth was looking out of. There was something familiar about the shape of their silhouette, and about the way they were standing. Seth sat up straighter, squinting against the bright midday sunshine. As he watched, the person slowly, very slowly, raised their hand toward the window, as if offering something. They gestured, beckoning.

“Seth?”

Seth jumped. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a low startled gasp. He looked around, blinking, and met with brilliant blue eyes.

“Finn?” He pulled out his headphones, shifting away from the window. “Oh, hey. Hi.”

“Hi,” Finn said, smiling. He sat down on the chair across from Seth. He was holding a book; Darwin’s “Origin of Species.”

Seth glanced back out the window. The figure under the birch tree was gone.

“You feeling better?” Finn asked, drawing Seth’s attention back to him.

“Um—yeah.” Seth readjusted himself again with a little shake of his head. _Get it together, Rollins_ , admonished a voice that was probably meant to be firm and reasonable but just sounded shaky and uncertain. Not realizing he was doing it, he put a hand over his right forearm, over where his sleeve concealed the bruise. “Yeah, I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good,” Finn said, and his smile was glowing, soft and warm as the light outside was harsh and cold. It made Seth feel more grounded, more solid. Somehow in this boy’s presence that disquieting sense of dreamlike unreality abated and the simple, ordinary things of the world regained the essential cohesiveness they were supposed to have. A little bit of the tension that had been coiling under Seth’s skin the last two days melted away and he took in a breath, trying to reaffirm his own essential cohesiveness.

“Um—” Seth studied Finn Balor, with his smile and Irish eyes. He was wearing a button-down shirt today that clung nicely to his well-defined body, and either the same black jeans as yesterday or a pair just like them. He had taken off his hoodie and tossed it over the arm of the chair. Seth had not really been in the frame of mind to notice such things yesterday, but Irish Eyes was rather good to look at. “Hey, thanks for yesterday. Really.”

“Sure, no problem.” Finn’s smile faltered briefly. “Odd thing to happen, isn’t it? That bird just diving at you like that? I’ve never heard of turkey vultures doing that kind of thing. They usually keep their distance, like most animals.”

_Follow the buzzards._

Seth sat back, trying to suppress the shudder that went suddenly through him. He shrugged, affecting a casual dismissal. “Maybe it wanted my coffee.”

Finn laughed, pressing his hand to his mouth to muffle the sound. Seth laughed, too. For a beat they just looked at each other, kind of smiling. Then they both looked away, almost in unison. Finn opened up “Origin of Species” and riffled through it aimlessly, his gaze unfocused, clearly not actually reading the words on the slightly yellowed pages.

“So you’re going for Vet Tech, too?” Seth asked presently, remembering what Finn had said yesterday about them having been in many of the same classes over the last couple of years.

Finn nodded. “That I am. I’m graduating next semester. Thank God and all the saints and the fairy folk and whoever else is out there.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

Finn put on a piteous expression. “You know, when I chose my major I thought it would be easy. I look back now and am amazed at how naïve I was.”

Seth snorted out another brief laugh. “It’s a lot,” he agreed.

“A _lot_. I always thought I was good at math and science. I don’t know what I’m good at anymore.”

Seth uttered an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “I know I’m good at pulling all-nighters and running on nothing but too much caffeine for days, at least.”

Finn laughed again, ducking his head behind his arm. He had a good laugh. His whole body got into it, faint crinkles appearing around his eyes. It was kind of infectious. “Well, at least there’s that. That’s one skill that should be useful in the real world, I suppose.”

“Do you plan on being a vet?”

“That’s the idea. I originally wanted to specialize in larger animals, like horses. I always wanted to have horses. But they—” He faltered, cutting himself off. “But now I’m thinking I’d prefer to work with, you know, exotic pets. Like snakes. I’m good with snakes.”

“Snakes, huh? That’s cool. I wanted a snake, when I was little. But mom’s afraid of them, so I never could.”

Finn brightened. He set aside the book and pulled out his phone. A few taps and swipes and he held it out to Seth, displaying a picture of a brown and black snake coiled in on itself, its head raised and turned upward toward the top of the glass cage it was in. “That’s Balthazar. He’s mine.”

Seth’s whole face lit up. He had forgotten the laughing man, the turkey vulture, the odd silhouette on the other side of the parking lot, even the strange way he had been feeling the past two days. “He’s awesome! He looks like a rattlesnake.”

“He’s a bullsnake. They do look similar, and Balthy can rattle his tail just like a rattlesnake, but he isn’t poisonous.”

“That’s so cool,” Seth enthused. Finn, clearly pleased, showed Seth a couple more pictures of Balthazar the snake, describing the adventure of first adopting Balthy, who had bitten Finn on several occasions because Finn had been foolish and hadn’t known the first thing about handling serpents and Balthy had been young and new to the whole human thing. They had come to know each other over the last four years, though, and had settled into an easy coexistence that was as close to camaraderie as the cold-blooded and warm-blooded could ever attain. Balthy had even come to accept Finn’s friends, who sometimes handled him when they were feeling bold. Finn kept him in his dorm room.

“Do you want to be a vet?” Finn asked, sitting back and putting his phone away.

Seth nodded. “I’m sticking to just dogs and cats. I love dogs, I’ve always wanted to work with them.” He showed Finn pictures of his dogs, Kevin and Prince, who lived with his parents back in Iowa. Finn practically gushed over each one.

They spent another half hour or so talking about their classes and their pets. Conversation was effortless once they got going; Finn seemed to like to talk, and Seth found him easy to talk to. Eventually they left the library and took a walk around campus. It was cold but not too cold, and the clear air was refreshing. The conversation turned to their hometowns. Finn had moved here from Ireland only five years ago, deciding to chase opportunity abroad. He went home every summer to visit his family, he said. He was a little vague about why had chosen to leave—a shadow seemed to pass over his expression when he spoke of his decision to go—but Seth didn’t think anything of it. Finn had a lot of tales about Ireland, and Seth just let him go, honestly fascinated. Seth himself had never been anywhere more exotic than New York City, and there wasn’t much to tell about the tiny Iowan town he hailed from.

By the time they parted ways it was growing dark and they had become friends. That night, in his room, listening idly to Dean and Roman banter over their homework and making half-hearted attempts to concentrate on his own homework, it was not his dream—dream?—of the man and the thing with the pale eyes that he thought about, it was Finn Balor, with his blue, blue eyes and brilliant smile.

***

Follow, _the wind whispered to him through the curtains. Cold fingers touched his cheek, almost tentative, frightened. Once more it was as if he had been pierced by thousands of tiny frigid needles. He made a sound, or thought he did, some small pained sound._

Follow.

_Warmth swept in, in a furious, powerful wave, wrapping around Seth, taking away the cold and the pain. There was a sound, like a howl of rage and anguish coming from a great distance._

_Peace settled again around Seth, heat lingering on his skin as the taint of smoke and sulfur lingered in the air._

 

 

  


	2. Chapter 2

He woke to find a bird feather clasped in his hand.

Seth sat bolt upright with a strangled gasp. The feather fell out of his hand and floated dreamily down to rest on top of the mattress. It was large and glossy black.

The room was freezing. Shivering, Seth drew back from where the feather lay, pulling the covers tightly and protectively around himself, and looked wildly around the room. Dean was snoring, spread out in a tangle of limbs with the covers all twisted around his legs. The curtains rippled gently as a chill breeze wafted into the room. The window had been closed when Seth went to bed. Now it was wide open. Just as it had been yesterday morning, although it had been shut the night before, as well. Dean had complained about it. “Why the hell’d you open the window, it’s freeze-your-balls-off cold out there,” he’d groused sleepily as he shut it, and Seth hadn’t told him that he _hadn’t_ opened the window.

Seth looked back at the feather. After a moment, he tentatively reached out and picked it up. It was just a bird feather, silky and almost weightless, and just like the one that had fallen off the turkey vulture that had swooped down in his face a couple days ago.

_Follow the buzzards._

Heart pounding, he got out of bed, the feather clutched in both hands. He went to the window and looked out. It was seven in the morning, according to the clock, and pale early morning light painted the world outside in a sleepy urban portrait. They were on the second floor, and there was cluster of almost bare maple trees directly below their window. Seth was certain he would see a man’s silhouette standing under those skeletal branches, silent and motionless and staring right at Seth.

There was nothing. No one.

Seth shut the window with a slam and turned away from it. Dean muttered something unintelligible and turned onto his side facing the wall, but he didn’t wake. Seth looked at him, still clutching the bird feather.

He had told Roman and Dean nothing, not about the man with the terrible smile that had attacked him Halloween night, not about the thing with the pale eyes that had saved him, not about the turkey vulture, not about his strange dreams with the whispering voice and the warmth that swept it away. He had been careful to keep the bruise on his arm hidden, and had just told them he felt sick, that was all, that was why he was maybe acting a little strange.

He should tell them. He should talk to them. He had no idea what was happening to him. Was he seeing things? Had he dreamed that man attacking him, and the man-thing that had rescued him? Or had it been no dream at all? The bruise was no dream. The way he felt was no dream. The bird feather in his hands was no dream.

He took a deep, trembling breath. He turned to the window, opened it back up, and tossed the feather out. Then he shut the window again and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. He settled back down into bed and retreated into his phone for a while, trying not to think.

When Dean woke up, Seth told him nothing.

***

Finn texted Seth around noon.

_Want to hang out?_

Seth’s heart did a funny little skip when he saw the message and who it was from. He debated with himself, pushing his glasses up his nose. He hated his glasses, but his hands were shaking just the slightest bit and he didn’t feel like trying to put contacts in today. He was feeling kind of out of it, feverish yet unable to shake this perpetual chill, and he didn’t really want to get out of bed. He had even ended up forsaking his morning workout. Still, he didn’t want to turn Finn down.

“Finn? Is that Finn Balor?”

Seth jumped, startled. “Jesus, Dean! You scared me.”

Dean flashed an impish grin, exposing his dimples. “Not my fault you ain’t paying attention, kiddo.” He scooted in next to Seth on the bed and rested his chin on Seth’s shoulder. “So, is that Finn Balor, the cute guy you were talking about?”

“I didn’t say he was _cute_.”

“The ‘cute’ was implied by your tone.” Seth rolled his eyes and Dean’s grin broadened. “Ask him if it’s okay if you bring a couple friends along.”

Seth arched an eyebrow.

“What?” Dean shrugged. “I wanna meet him, so does Ro. It’s not every day our little princess makes a new friend. Who knows, maybe you’ve finally met your prince!”

“Fuck you,” Seth ground out, and Dean laughed, ruffling his hair.

“Wear the glasses,” Dean advised, “you look ridiculously cute with them on.”

“ _Fuck_ you, asshole.” Seth shoved him right off the bed.

***

Seth made to knock on the door to Finn’s room, but before he could it was thrown open. Standing there was a stocky guy around Finn’s age who made up for the lack of hair on his head with a respectable bushy black beard. He beamed at Seth.

“So you’re Seth Rollins,” he said, eyeing Seth up and down. “The man. The myth. The legend. Glad to finally meet you.” He stuck out a hand, but when Seth, slightly bewildered, made to shake it, he jerked it back and instead hooked one thick muscular arm around Seth’s neck and practically dragged him into the room. “Welcome to the club, kid!”

“Karl, can you please not,” Finn said from where he was sitting on the bed on his side of the room, a pained look on his face. Sitting next to him was a huge young man, easily six-eight, heavily muscled and bald like Karl, with the same dark beard. The two could have been brothers, actually. He introduced himself as Luke Gallows. Coiling up Luke’s arm was a snake; Seth recognized Balthazar from the pictures Finn had shown him.

Karl, it turned out, was Finn’s roommate. Finn, Luke, and Karl had been friends since high school, much like Seth, Dean, and Roman had. They’d formed kind of a clique, Karl said, along with a couple other friends. “We called ourselves Bullet Club, that’s how big of assholes we were,” Karl told them, laughing. The Club had since all gone their separate ways, except the three of them.

“You wanna talk about assholes,” Dean said, grinning, “the three of us—” he gestured to himself, Roman, and Seth, “—met when Roman broke up a fight between Seth ‘n me and all three of us ended up suspended and in the hospital. We kinda bonded after that.”

Dean went on to tell the whole story, Seth occasionally butting in to correct some detail Dean got wrong (for example, Dean’s claim that Seth had started the fight, which was _not_ what had happened and he damn well knew it). Seth settled in on the bed next to Finn and Balthy was passed over to him. Finn grinned up at him when he made a small sound of delight as Balthy coiled up his arm, and there was that funny little fluttery sensation in Seth’s chest again.

There was a towering Batman poster, a Star Wars: The Force Awakens poster, and a poster for the new Halloween movie hanging over Finn’s bed. Finn’s side of the room was cramped because of Balthy’s tank and a small desk taking up most of the space, but it was relatively clean and orderly. Textbooks were stacked on one side of the desk; on the other side was docked a half-finished Millennium Falcon Lego model. A stack of plastic drawers at the foot of the bed seemed to hold all of Finn’s clothes. A hoodie had been thrown carelessly over it.

Karl’s side of the room was quite a bit more cluttered. Clothes, textbooks, and notebooks littered the floor and the bed. The sheets and covers were in disarray. An impressive weight set was on the floor by the bedside table. The TV was on Karl’s side, video games stacked somewhat haphazardly next to the game consoles—they had a PS4 and a Switch port—an assortment of DVDs and Blu-Rays scattered about. They’d managed to squeeze a mini-fridge by the TV.

The contrast was marked, and it made Seth smile; it was pretty much the same dichotomy that characterized his and Dean’s dorm room. Of course Seth’s was the neat and orderly side, and Dean’s was the chaotic side.

The six of them spent some time chatting about everything and nothing. Seth remarked on the Lego Falcon, and Finn’s whole face immediately lit up. Karl groaned and implored, “Oh, please don’t get him started,” but it was too late. Finn revealed himself to be quite the Lego enthusiast and a huge Star Wars fan.

The conversation eventually turned to the impressive collection of video games Finn, Karl, and Luke had amassed, which in turn led to all of them gathering around to watch Dean and Karl wage war on Mario Kart. After Dean had lost half a dozen times he humbly surrendered the controller to Roman, who stepped into battle with the solemn determination of a hardened General. Karl took one look at Roman’s face, saw his winning streak was in danger, and promptly passed his controller onto Luke. Soon it was Seth’s and Finn’s turn to go against each other. They found themselves evenly matched, uncannily so, trading wins and losses back and forth in rapid succession.

All the noise and chaos, the constant uproarious laughter and hollered death-threats—Dean always came up with the most morbidly specific things—were welcome distractions for Seth, as was Finn Balor himself, all his sunny smiles, his laughter, and all the little glances he would steal at Seth whenever he thought Seth wasn’t looking. It was hard to look away from him, and maybe Seth’s losses in the game could be partially attributed to the fact he kept getting distracted by Finn’s hands, and the way he snarled when he really got competitive that was…kind of adorable.

***

Follow the buzzards.

_A frigid touch brushed across his cheek and through his hair, light as a breath. He recoiled from it, curling up against the searing pain._

They will lead you to me.

 _Trailing down his spine, down his legs. His body rocked with spasms. Pain, so much_ pain _, tearing him apart from the inside._

Come to me.

_Pressure on his neck, feather-light._

_Then the warmth came again and the cold touch disappeared, the rising, insistent murmurs of the wind falling into silence._

***

Sunday brought slightly warmer weather, and students milled about around campus, taking advantage of what might very well be one of the last good days of the season; the rest of the week was predicted to show temperatures hovering around the mid-thirties. Seth had portended a harsh winter this year, and he thought he was probably right.

Karl and Luke were out, so Seth and Finn had the room to themselves. Finn kicked off his shoes and plopped down onto his bed. “So what do you wanna do?”

Seth shrugged, settling down beside Finn. He thought he was feeling all right. A little feverish, still, and his thoughts were kind of disjointed and foggy, which made keeping up with conversations challenging. He found he didn’t have much energy. He felt _heavy,_ like something was weighing him down.

He looked over at the Lego model of the Millennium Falcon on Finn’s desk. “You said you collect Legos?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of my hobby. I’ve loved building stuff with Legos since I was a kid. Never grew out of it, I guess. Just got bigger and more complicated stuff to build.” He gestured to the Falcon model. “Star Wars ones are my favorite. I’ve been working on that one since Luke and Karl got it for me last Christmas, but I’ve had like no time so it’s taking me forever.”

At Seth’s suggestion, they both got to work on the Falcon model, sprawled out on the floor surrounded by Lego pieces and talking about all things Star Wars. After a while Finn put on A New Hope and a comfortable silence fell between the two as they divided their attention between the movie and the Falcon. Seth found that Finn held his attention most of all, Finn with his blue, blue eyes and his graceful hands. Watching him set off that fluttery sort of feeling, a soft warm glow in his core that briefly engulfed the mental and physical weariness that had been plaguing him. It felt good to be here with Finn. He felt at ease with Finn, in a way he never had with anyone other than Dean and Roman, and it made it easy not to think about the inexplicable things that had been happening since Halloween.

Although—somewhere in the back of Seth’s mind was a stirring of disquiet. It was something about the way Finn moved. He had noticed it before, the day they met. There was something about the other boy that sparked a sense of familiarity that Seth could not place. It was odd, and Seth tried to ignore it.

***

_The cold pressure that followed the insistent whispers from the curtains settled around his neck. And squeezed. Agony ripped through him. He tried to struggle, but the pressure increased. The whispers grew louder and louder until they morphed into terrible, hysterical laughter._

Follow the buzzards.

_Fingers, tightening and tightening around his throat, cutting off his air, sending shocks of blinding pain coursing through his whole body._

Come to me.

_All his strength was gone. The laughter rose to a hellish din._

Follow the buzzards!

 _Heat swallowed the room, swallowed the laughter, the voice, swallowed_ him _. The pressure vanished and he laid gasping and shaking, curled in on himself, hands on his throat. The stench of smoke and sulfur was unbearable._

Seth opened his eyes.

At first, he could see nothing, the darkness seemed complete. His eyes were stinging. His throat was in agony. His breath came out in hacking coughs. The heat and that awful smell were oppressive, searing his skin, his lungs.

Something was standing by the window. He could make out the shape of it, just barely, a solid blackness against the dark. Seth, fear and confusion making any coherent thought impossible, scrambled to reach for the lamp on his nightstand, almost knocking it over before he managed to click on the light. The thing turned to face him as artificial illumination fell across it. Pale translucent eyes regarded him.

Seth stared, propped up on his elbow, wheezing and clutching at his wounded throat. Tears blurred his vision, distorting the image of the man standing in the middle of his dorm room. The man—the creature—looked different now, his charcoal skin streaked with brutal crimson like monstrous veins, angular white patterns circling down his chest and the lower half of his face as if to mimic the gaping jaws of a massive beast, but Seth recognized him, recognized the sensation of his presence and the cool piercing gaze of those white eyes.

The man—the creature—hunched down onto all fours and loped towards him with animalistic predatory grace, almost too fast for Seth to follow. He rose when he reached the bed, reaching out for Seth. Seth just watched, unable to move, unable to scream, unable even to think. The man-thing touched the hand he was holding over his throat. Warmth suffused his skin, soothing all the pain in his body, and he felt the swelling of his throat go down. He sucked in a huge gasp of air, suddenly finding himself able to breathe again. His strength returned in one fell swoop and he recoiled from the man-thing’s touch, panic swooping in with it. He pressed himself back against the headboard, trying to put as much distance between himself and the creature as possible, panting, his heart racing a mile a minute. His vision kept going in and out of focus but the man-thing never did; it stood out against the hazy background of his room in full clarity.

The man-thing looked at him, still and expressionless. Something about his face was very familiar. Seth’s thoughts were in a whirlwind and he could not figure out why, or from where, but he _knew_ that face, the wide brow and angular jawline, the shape of the nose and eyes.

The creature that looked like a man but wasn’t took a step beck. “Sleep.” His susurrus voice echoed across the room, across Seth’s thoughts, lulling his mind into somnolence. “You have nothing to fear now.”

The thing reached for Seth again, but this time Seth did not draw away. He was already slipping back into the quiet void of sleep, and he allowed himself to be pushed gently down onto the bed and tucked in snugly beneath the covers. As the last vestige of consciousness drifted away he thought, _Finn?_

***

_It was a dream._

Was it, though? It seemed like he had awoken, ripped violently out of sleep by someone—something—trying to throttle him, and then had fallen asleep again when coaxed by the thing with the pale eyes.

_Just a dream, like Halloween night. It has to be. Right?_

Right?

“I’ve been having some really vivid fucking dreams,” he muttered. He had been fiddling with a twig he discovered on the ground next to him, and now he snapped it in half and tossed the pieces away.

He was sitting underneath one of the mostly-bare maples that dotted the college’s sloping lawn facing the street. Bundled up as he was in a fleece jacket, gloves, and a winter hat, he was still shivering in the cold. Night was coming on fast, as it was wont to do this time of year, and as the light faded the temperature steadily dropped, biting winds picking up to steal away what little warmth the air retained.

Unthinkingly, he touched his neck. There were no bruises, no marks, no sign that hands had been locked around the sensitive skin in a vice-grip last night.

_Because it was a dream._

_What about the bruise on my arm, then, huh?_

The handprint on his right forearm had mostly faded, but faint yellowish marks remained to remind him of the implacable, undeniable truth that it had been there.

“I’m going nuts, aren’t I?” he asked the drowsing tree he was sitting under. “It’s the only explanation, isn’t it? I’ve finally cracked. The pressure, or something. You’d think it would’ve happened last semester, when I had six classes and I was getting maybe four hours of sleep a night, but I guess it’s happening now.” His half-hearted attempt at a joke fell flat even to himself. He rubbed his face and leaned back against the maple’s trunk.

He heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see a large black bird taking flight. He tensed when he saw it was a turkey vulture. He watched it soar across the lawn, swooping down to perch on a bare branch of one of the trees near the street. Seth’s heart stopped and his breath caught with a weak gasp.

There was someone standing underneath the tree. In the dying light he could only see them in silhouette. They were kind of hunched over, shoulders slumped, long dark hair obscuring their face. As Seth watched, frozen in place, the person slowly lifted their head, and Seth—

“Hey, you, isn’t it a bit cold to be just hanging out, out here?”

Seth jumped with a little yelp and whipped around, wide-eyed. Finn jerked back and threw up his hands, looking startled.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said, his own eyes wide, “didn’t mean to startle you.” Furrows appeared in his brow. “You okay? You look like you’ve—”

“Don’t say ‘seen a ghost,’” Seth cut him off. His voice was shaking. He looked back across the lawn. No one was there. The bird had gone, as well.

_Follow the buzzards._

“Like you just saw a zombie, then?” That got a weak, distracted smile from Seth. Finn sat down next to him, his expression concerned. “Seriously, Seth, what’s the matter? You look freaked out. Did something happen?”

No doubt he looked freaked out. He _was_ freaked out. “No,” he managed, after a moment, and he almost sounded normal. “No, I just…I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“Um—forgive me for being blunt, but you don’t look fine.”

Seth almost told him everything, then. The words rushed up suddenly like water behind a dam, pressure building and building with nowhere to go, threatening to break through. He stopped himself. They had just met a couple days ago, they hardly knew each other, and anyway, what exactly was he supposed to say? That he had been seeing things? That he’d been having terrible dreams he wasn’t even sure were dreams? How long would it take before Finn said “screw this” and bolted, or called up the proverbial men in white coats?

Seth closed his eyes and inhaled deep, covering his face with his hands. His skin felt raw, irritated by the rough material of his gloves. It was so cold. It felt not like the heart of autumn but like the dead of winter, when all things died or slept and any person foolish enough to be caught out in the elements was likely to freeze.

A hand settled on his shoulder, warm and tentative. “Hey,” Finn said, softly. “Why don’t we head back to the dorms? I’ll get you some hot chocolate. Do you like hot chocolate? Or maybe tea, do you drink tea?”

Seth lowered his hands and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. Finn looked anxious—but anxious _for_ him, Seth realized. His concern, or perhaps just the warmth of his touch, made Seth feel a little better, a little more like himself. “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

Finn brightened, offering one of his sunny smiles. That made Seth feel a little better, too. He glanced toward the tree again, but still nothing was there, no silhouette, no vulture.

They both stood up, Finn still with his hand on Seth’s shoulder. Seth felt a little dizzy and thought for a second it would be a repeat of when they’d first met, but this time he managed to keep his balance without assistance. Finn stayed close to him the whole walk back to the dorms. His presence was reassuring, but Seth kept looking around, sure he would catch a glimpse of a familiar shape underneath each tree or in the shadows of the buildings.

Finn led them back to his own dorm room, which was thankfully empty. He guided Seth to his bed and Seth sat down, hardly registering when Finn grabbed the blanket lying on top of the covers and wrapped it around his shoulders. “I’ll be right back,” Finn assured him, squeezing both his shoulders before hurrying out of the room, leaving Seth sitting there alone.

Seth looked around the room—the posters on the walls, the messy piles of video games and movies, textbooks everywhere, the Lego Millennium Falcon on the desk. It was all familiar, a scene of comfortable normalcy, with the kind of pseudo-homey atmosphere student dorms sometimes acquired. Seth pulled the blanket tighter around himself and leaned against the wall, looking at everything, all the little articles of Finn’s and Karl’s personalities. His gaze settled on the Lego Falcon model and fixated on it; for some reason it seemed to ground him, to anchor everything around him into unquestionable unwavering reality.

Finn returned with a styrofoam cup. He passed it to Seth and sat down next to him on the bed. Seth gripped the cup with both hands. Its heat seeped through the gloves and into Seth’s freezing skin. It felt good. He took a sip, not caring how it burned his tongue. The heat that blossomed in his stomach and spread throughout the rest of his body was blissful.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still a bit tremulous.

Finn gripped his shoulder again. “Hey, so what’s going on, Seth? Are you still sick? You seemed fine yesterday.”

“It…it seemed to be getting better, but today…” He shrugged, helplessly. “I don’t know. I think it might be because I, um, haven’t been getting much sleep lately. I’ve been having really bad nightmares.” _Nightmares that might not be nightmares at all._ He thought of the thing with the pale eyes, and touched his throat. It had looked different, last night. The colors of its skin had changed, and it had not been wearing that strange headdress it had on Halloween night. And its face, its face had seemed so familiar—

“What kind of nightmares?” Finn asked. He had tensed, almost imperceptibly. Out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw him glance sharply toward the window.

Seth regarded him, studied his face. Broad forehead, angular jawline and high cheekbones—the shape of his eyes, his nose, his mouth—the slope of his shoulders, his slender waist—the shape of his hands, his long fingers—

Seth closed his eyes and shook his head, turning away. _Crazy. That’s crazy._

“Seth?” Finn’s grip on his shoulder tightened. He sounded alarmed. “Seth, you’re shaking. What’s the matter?”

Abruptly, Seth stood up, throwing off the blanket. “I—I have to go. Th—thanks, thank you, really, but I—I have to go.” He rushed out of the room before Finn could protest, holding the cup of hot chocolate to his chest. Out in the hallway he stumbled, throwing out a hand to brace himself against the wall. His heart was racing. He stared at the floor, breathing hard. What was happening to him? What was _going on?_

The hallway seemed to be shrouded in a white haze, like a strip of gauze had been placed over his eyes. His legs had turned to rubber, but somehow they carried him back to his room. Dean was stretched out on his bed, his laptop open in front of him. He was sniggering at some video he was watching, but he took one look at Seth and the smile dropped from his face.

“Seth? You okay?”

Seth didn’t reply, just staggered over to his own bed and collapsed down on top of it, curling up under the covers. He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off.

Dean came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t say anything, but he put a hand on Seth’s shoulder, offering wordless comfort. Seth was glad for him. Eventually, Seth slipped into a restless sleep.

***

He had to get out of here. He had to—had to—

_Follow._

Seth raised his head. The room swam in and out of focus. He was too hot, a thin veneer of sweat damping his skin, but the room was so cold he could see his breath in puffs of white cloud. The window was open, curtains dancing wildly in the wind that howled and screeched outside.

_Come._

Words, caught in the current of the wind like fallen leaves, calling to him.

_Follow._

Seth sat up, slowly. Dean’s arm fell off him. His roommate had crawled into bed next to him, somehow squeezing himself between Seth and the wall, wrapped an arm around his middle, and fallen asleep. He stirred, brow crinkling and shivering a little, but went on snoring. Seth pulled the covers back over him. Seth was still wearing his coat, hat, gloves, and even his shoes. He got to his feet. There was a bird feather lying in front of the door.

_Come._

Numb, Seth walked to the door. The hollow roar of the wind and the whispered words within it echoed in his head, obliterating all other thought. He opened the door, walked down the hall, down the stairs, across the lobby, and out into the cold, cold night. Bitter winds whipped at his clothes, biting at every inch of exposed skin. The sky was black and starless and moonless. He stood in the protective circle of artificial light from the dorm building, and standing right in front of him, just outside that circle, was the hunched shape of a man wearing a pastel-colored floral shirt and a fedora. The brim of the hat was pulled down over the man’s eyes, but Seth could see his grin, waxy skin stretched in lunatic mirth that widened and widened until it started to look more like a silent scream. One hand extended toward Seth, and beckoned.

A turkey vulture swooped down from above, briefly blocking Seth’s view, and the man disappeared. The vulture alighted on the sidewalk only the few feet in front of Seth, fixing its black baleful eyes on him. Then it took flight again.

_Follow the buzzards._

He followed. He walked off campus, turned down the street. On top of each of the streetlights he passed was perched a turkey vulture, darker shapes against the night, their small red heads turned down to watch him. He followed them. He wasn’t sure how long he walked, or how far. The next thing he knew he was kneeling in front of a tombstone.  

 _Bray Wyatt,_ the stone’s inscription said. He couldn’t read it in the utter darkness, but somehow he knew what it said. _Son, brother, friend. 1987-2017._

Arms wrapped around him from behind. A hand settled over his nose and mouth, cutting off his air. The stench of rot was overwhelming. The wind became a voice, whispering in his ear with manic glee.

_Join me, join me, come join me, child, what has this world ever given to you? Stay, sleep, here in the dark, let me cut the strings that bind you to mankind. Join me, join me, join me—_

He couldn’t breathe. The voice filled the world, eclipsed all thought, all feeling, it was all there was, the voice and the wind and the bitter, bitter cold, swallowing him whole, dragging him down, down, down—

Then the whole world was set ablaze. The voice turned into a scream, awful and agonized and furious, rising and rising and then fading and fading until it became again only the insensate howl of the wind. Seth collapsed onto the grave.

The smells of smoke and sulfur permeated the air. It was suddenly as warm as the height of summer, and there was a glow all around him, red-orange and capering like firelight. With a tremendous effort, he lifted his head, blinking in the sudden brightness.

A man stood in front of the tombstone that marked the grave of Bray Wyatt. Seth could only see his back, and on his back was a single great eye, red and blazing, the pupil elongated like that of a snake. The eye fixed on Seth, searing into him, and there was an instant of blinding terror before all went black and Seth knew no more.

***

Seth woke slowly, consciousness returning in bits and pieces—sensation first, warm and comfortable; hearing, a voice with an Irish accent muttering frantically; taste, ashes on his tongue; smell, the richness of coffee. Finally came sight, as his eyes fluttered open.

He was in a bed that was not his. As the world came into focus he recognized that he was in Finn’s dorm room, in Finn’s bed. Finn Balor was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands restlessly and talking to himself under his breath. There were deep bags under his eyes. He looked stricken, his face white as— _white as a ghost_ , Seth thought, his first clear thought, and that was when it all came rushing back. His eyes shot wide and he bolted upright with a strangled cry.

Finn froze and then hurried to his side. “Oh my God,” he said, “Oh my God, Seth, thank God.” He threw his arms around Seth’s neck and held him so tight that for a moment Seth couldn’t breathe. He let go quickly, looking a little embarrassed, as if realizing what he had just done, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He regarded Seth, concern etched into his features. “Are you okay? I was so worried you would—Are you okay?”

Seth stared at him, pale and mute. At length he managed, his voice little more than a whispery croak, “That was…that was _you_.” It wasn’t a question.

Finn let out a long, low, shaky breath. “I…I have a lot of explaining to do, I think.” He couldn’t meet Seth’s gaze suddenly, instead looking down at his hands, twisting them anxiously in his lap. He looked oddly vulnerable, his expression unhappy and rueful.

“It was _you_ ,” Seth repeated, wonderingly. His mind couldn’t seem to wrap around this knowledge. Nothing made sense. Even the sight of Finn and Karl’s dorm room—the posters on the wall, the tumbling stack of video games and movies, the half-finished Lego model of the Millennium Falcon—seemed foreign and vaguely sinister, like it was all an illusion, a mask concealing things far beyond the mundane and accepted.

Finn nodded. “It was—” He swallowed thickly. “It was me. Well, sort of me. I’ve been trying to protect you from him. Wyatt. You’ve been seeing a man, haven’t you? Hearing his voice at night? And it all started on Halloween, yeah? His name is—well, was—Bray Wyatt. He was a ghost. A Revenant.”

“A ghost,” Seth echoed. His voice sounded distant and dreamy to his own ears.

Finn stood up abruptly. “Look, let me get you a drink, okay?” He walked over to the mini-fridge, struggled for a second to open it, then finally succeeded and retrieved a water bottle from inside. He brought it back to Seth and offered it almost shyly, still avoiding Seth’s eyes. Seth took it, but his numb fingers couldn’t get the cap off. Finn helped him. The cold water was like a blessing.

“Do you know the origins of Halloween?” Finn asked, after a moment.

Seth shook his head, slowly. When he spoke, his voice was clearer, steadier. “It comes from some old pagan festival, that’s all I know.”

“An old Celtic festival, as a matter of fact. Samhain. It was celebrated to mark the end of summer and the beginning of winter. There were bonfires and feasts, and people dressed up in costumes to ward off evil spirits. It was believed that during Samhain the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead was at its thinnest, so spirits could pass through. Some of these spirits were good, the spirits of ancestors coming back to visit their loved ones. Some were bad, malevolent spirits who only wanted to terrorize the living.”

“So…you’re saying…all of that is true?”

Finn lifted his gaze and smiled faintly. “Yeah. It’s true. On Halloween, ghosts pass through into our world. Most of them are harmless, just lost spirits that wander, unseen and unnoticed by the living except in random cold pockets and maybe odd images captured in pictures every now and then. They don’t have any real power to affect our world. But sometimes they’re far more powerful, and violent. Sometimes they come to haunt the living, and they’ll hurt people if they can. I call these ‘Revenants.’ People used to believe that sometimes, people who had been wicked and violent in their lifetimes were the same way in death, and they came back to inflict more pain on the living folk. They called them by a lot of names. I always liked ‘Revenant’ best. It’s a cool word.” He laughed self-consciously.

Seth shook his head. _This is crazy._ But it was crazy that made sense, wasn’t it? He had not been dreaming. Not on Halloween, not any of those nights when the curtains whispered beckoningly to him and that icy touch sent ravages of pain through him until it was chased away. Not the time he had seen that man-like creature that smelled of smoke and sulfur in his room, assuring him he need not be afraid. Not in the graveyard.

“Bray Wyatt,” he murmured.

“That was his name. He was murdered last year. Killed in a…uh, a cult ritual, I guess it was, by a man named Matt Hardy. He was drowned in what Hardy called ‘The Lake of Reincarnation,’ on Hardy’s property. Hardy, when he was arrested, proclaimed that Wyatt would return renewed and stronger than he had ever been.” Finn shuddered. “God, he looked so crazy. They showed it on the news. I guess Hardy wasn’t exactly wrong, though.”

“God,” Seth said. He felt sick.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Finn drew up his knees, hugging them to his chest. His face was pinched. “People who die a violent death are much more likely to come back as angry ghosts intent on haunting others. And sometimes…sometimes they latch onto a living person, kind of… _feed_ off them, off their energy, growing stronger and stronger, until they’re able to cause real physical harm. That’s what happened with Wyatt. He…latched onto you. Like a leech.” He looked at Seth. “You’ve been feeling kind of out of it the past few days, yeah? Kind of like you have a fever that won’t go away?”

Seth nodded slowly. “That’s because the…the ghost was… _feeding_ on me?” Unconsciously, he crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He was trembling, he realized, curled in on himself and shaking like a child.

“On your spirit, yes.” Finn gave him a look like he wanted to reach out to him, wanted to very badly, but he seemed to hesitate.

“God,” Seth said again, weakly. He thought he might throw up.  

Finn shifted so he was sitting beside Seth on the bed, Seth automatically scooting over toward the wall to give him room. Finn put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly. “It’s okay,” Finn said, softly. “Wyatt’s gone now. You won’t be troubled by him anymore.”

Seth regarded him, remembering, belatedly, that there was still one enormous unanswered question looming over them. “What…what are you?”

Finn seemed uncertain how to respond for a moment. He took a deep breath. “I’m just some bloke from Bray, County Wicklow, Ireland, who happens to be possessed by a demon.”

“A _what?”_

Finn smiled thinly. “In Celtic mythology, there’s this race of monstrous, demonic beings called The Formorians. Their king was the tyrant Balor, sometimes called Balor of the Evil Eye, who was said to have one great, fiery eye that when opened could set the whole world on fire. No army could defeat him while he had his eye open. I always liked those old myths, but I never believed there was any truth to them, until one night when me and my family were visiting Tory Island. I was about ten, I think. I snuck out in the middle of the night, thinking it’d be cool to take a little walk in the woods around the house of the friend we were staying with. I wouldn’t go too deep, just kind of walk around the edge, pretend I was one of the Formorians, stalking around in the dark. I went too deep. I was a dumb kid with no sense of direction, and no forest is kind to dumb kids, especially in the Old World. Before I knew it I had lost my way.”

His eyes had grown dark with memory. “Something attacked me. It overpowered me, took over my body. I remember screaming, but I must have been too far for anyone to hear me. I remember a feeling like I was being ripped apart, inside and out. It felt like there was a great weight on me, like…like there were chains wrapping around me, trying to tighten, to bind me. I fought against them. I fought against that weight, fought to…to hold myself together. I could _feel_ this…this presence inside me, in my head, trying to take over, trying to smother me, to _swallow_ me. I fought it. I fought like hell. I’ve never felt pain like that. It was like the end of the world. I thought I was dying. I _was_ dying. Something was trying to kill me. Not physically—it was trying to destroy my soul, to take my body. I understood that, somehow.”

His hand had fallen from Seth’s shoulder; he had drawn up his knees again, gazing at the wall, not really seeing it. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the guest room of my parent’s friend’s house. At first I thought it had all been a horrible dream, but then I realized that I was filthy, covered in dirt and leaves. I was covered in bruises and scratches, too, like I had clawed at myself, like I had been flailing around violently on the ground and had gotten beaten up by rocks and tree branches. It had been real, all right. I must have found my way back somehow, although I didn’t remember it.

“I had won. I don’t know how, I can’t _imagine_ how, but I had won. I had overcome whatever had tried to take over me. Instead of it taking control of me, _I_ took control of _it_.”

Finn looked at Seth, smiling again, without much humor. “Fomorians are quite real, I discovered. Some legends say they’re giants, some say they have man-like bodies with the heads of goats. I found out neither of those things are true. They’re supernatural beings with no physical form of their own that prowl in the dark of night, seeking to possess humans foolish enough to get lost in the forests. Like me.”

Seth shook his head, slowly. “You’re... _possessed_ …by one of these things?”

“Not just any one of these things. By Balor himself, or so he calls himself. The Demon King, he likes to refer to himself as. You see, um…my real name isn’t Finn Balor. I changed my name when I came to the States. It was kinda a pride thing, I guess. It was like me flaunting that I was the one in control, not Balor. He found it amusing.”

Seth shrank back against the wall, hugging himself tighter, almost protectively. “This is insane,” he said, but it was weak, a token protest.

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, still smiling that humorless smile, “yeah, it is.”

Seth’s mind was reeling. _All_ of this was insane, but he had no doubt, somehow, that everything Finn had told him was the truth. It was like the earth had dropped from beneath him and now he was free-falling, tumbling into an endless black abyss.

Finn reached out and took his hand, as if to catch him.

“We’ve been trying to protect you,” he said quietly. “I sensed Wyatt’s presence at Xavier’s party. You see, Balor gives me the ability to see the supernatural world as clearly as I see the natural one. I saw the Revenant, and I saw it had fixed itself onto you. So I followed you, when you left the party alone. I had a feeling something bad would happen. That ghost was already powerful, such a concentration of violent negative energy. I was worried about you. And when the Revenant attacked you, I let Balor take over to chase it away.”

Finn squeezed his hand. “Revenants are different from regular ghosts, though. They can’t be destroyed so easily. I knew it would be back. I could _feel_ it. I could feel it sucking up your spirit’s energy. I’ve tried to keep watch over you the last few days. I mean, I haven’t been _stalking_ you or anything, but…” He shifted, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I haven’t been, like, watching you all the time. But I, uh, I set up a sort of psychic link with you.”

“A psychic link?” Seth echoed, bewildered.

“Well, sort of. That’s the best way I know how to describe it, anyway. Basically, I’ve been able to sense your presence, no matter where you were. Because we’ve both stayed on campus this weekend it’s been pretty easy. I was able to sense when the Revenant was near you. I made sure to come to your side as quickly as I could whenever I did, to keep it away from you. And I was there, at night, to frighten it away when it tried to get to you as you slept. All ghosts are stronger during the nighttime, and people are at their most vulnerable when they’re sleeping.

“But…I was only delaying the inevitable. I couldn’t break its hold on you, and it was growing stronger. I…I’m really sorry, Seth. I wish I could have…” His voice caught, and he swallowed roughly. His eyes were overbright. Seth wanted reach out or say something to comfort him, but he couldn’t seem to move, or speak.

Finn closed his eyes briefly and shook himself. “But last night, I finally destroyed it. Wyatt brought you to his grave. It turned out that was exactly what I needed. I put him back into it, once and for all.”

Seth managed, faintly, “How?”

Finn shook his head, firmly. “You don’t want to know. Just know he’s gone. You’re safe.” He squeezed Seth’s hand again, and the look in his eyes was soft and tender. “It’s all over. I promise.”

***

Coming back to the dorms after the holidays or just before the start of a new semester was always kind of a strange feeling. It was not the feeling of inevitability he had when his parents and his dogs welcomed him home in Iowa, a feeling of comfortable permanence, like no matter how many times he left this house would always be here, waiting for his return; it was instead the opposite, a sense of ephemerality, a knowledge that this room he shared with Dean was only a temporary place for a temporary time in his life. Every time he came back, resettling into this room, he was reminded that before long—in just a few years, now just a few months—he would leave here for good and this part of his life would be over. There was a bit of melancholy in that knowledge, but comfort, too. This was not something that had been chosen for him, like the neat little house in Iowa, but something he had chosen for himself, the first real adult decision he had made, a sort of rite of passage.

Dean was already complaining about the cold weather. He had been staying with Roman and his family down in Florida—Dean’s only family was his estranged mother, but both Seth’s and Roman’s families had all but officially adopted him; he had lived with Seth throughout most of their high school years—and he was struggling to readjust to the freezing northeast. Seth let Dean’s whining wash over him as they unpacked. Every so often Seth would glance toward the window. He felt a little tightening in his chest, but that was all.

Finn texted him about an hour after Seth and Dean had arrived.

_You back yet? :)_

Seth smiled. Finn had been back for almost a week now, and he had been quite impatient for the day Seth returned. They had talked almost constantly throughout the winter break. At the thought of seeing Finn again a blossom of warmth bloomed in Seth’s chest.

He texted back: _Yep. Just settling in._

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. “That Irish Eyes?”

It was funny—kind of uncanny—how Dean had adopted as his nickname for Finn the same appellation Seth’s muddled brain had given him when they first met. Seth didn’t know if the fact he and Dean had a tendency to think alike sometimes was a good thing or not. “Yeah,” he said. “Asking if I was back yet.”

Another message: _Well, door’s open whenever you wanna come say hi._

Dean groaned and flopped down onto his bed. “Oh, sure,” he cried, waving his hands dramatically, “just run off with some guy and leave me here to _suffer_ and _die_ all _alone_.”

“’K. You left me your car in your will, right?”

***

Seth knocked politely and then opened the door. Finn was sitting on his bed, engrossed in his phone. He glanced up and when he saw Seth he lit up. Seth could have sworn the whole room got a little brighter.

“Seth!” He jumped up, tossing his phone aside—it landed precariously close to the edge of the bed—and locked Seth in a bone-crushing hug.

Seth laughed, as best he could with his air suddenly cut off, and embraced Finn in return.

Karl wasn’t back yet, it turned out, and neither was Luke. Finn complained, almost as dramatic as Dean, about how lonely he had been the last several days, with nothing to do but sit around and play games and build Lego sets all on his own. “Oh! Which reminds me…” He’d gotten a whole assortment of sets for Christmas, including the Jurassic World one Seth had given him before they all departed for the break, and he’d brought a bunch with him. His desk was littered with Lego figures now, and he showed Seth each one with all the excitement of a child showing off his toys. Seth found it amusing—and endearing—but also the figure of the Indorapter from Jurassic World was really cool, and there were of course plenty of new Star Wars models to marvel over, and speaking of Marvel—

“How are you feeling?” Finn asked, suddenly.

Seth regarded him, smile fading. Then he smiled again, softly. “I’m good. I’m okay.”

It was true. It had been almost three months since Halloween and the terrible four days that had followed. The whole thing had begun to fade, to feel like just a very bad dream. Of course it had been very real, Finn was proof enough of that, but there were no more nightmares, no more nights where Seth lay awake, afraid to sleep, listening to the wind outside, waiting for it to turn into a voice. He was aware now of so much more than he ever could have imagined, the whole world was different now, but life went on. It had seemed impossible, at first, that he would be able to cope, to readjust to normal life—how could anything ever feel normal again?—but Finn had been there, an anchor, a steady hand, keeping him firmly on solid ground. He probably _wouldn’t_ have made it without Finn. Hell, without Finn he probably wouldn’t be alive.

Seth sat down on Finn’s bed, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t think I ever said thank you,” he said slowly, looking at his hands. “You know, for what you did. For helping me. For, uh…saving me. So…thank you. Really. I owe you everything.” He lifted his gaze to meet Finn’s, earnestly. He felt vulnerable somehow, like he was opening himself up to something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Finn seemed surprised. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I was here, y’know?”

Seth laughed a little. “I’m glad you were here, too.”

They just looked at each other for a moment, unspeaking. Finn sat down next to Seth, close enough so their shoulders brushed. It was a good feeling, being this close. It was a feeling Seth was already becoming accustomed to, and that was good, too.

“Hey—” Finn faltered and paused for a long moment, biting his lip. Then he tried again. “Hey, I was thinking out this over the break, it was, uh, kind of the only thing I was thinking about, really…I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I thought I should wait, and, um, well…” He paused again, a tinge of color in his pale cheeks. Seth waited. “We’ve been hanging out a lot, and talking a lot, and it’s been cool, and I, uh, really like you, and—God, that’s so cheesy and juvenile but—do you wanna—?”

“Yes,” Seth interjected, unable to suppress a grin, and suddenly he was quite sure that, whatever this was, he was ready for it.  

Finn blinked at him. The deer-in-the-headlights look on his face almost made Seth burst out laughing, but he managed to refrain. Then a grin broke out across Finn’s face. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Seth repeated.

Finn was practically glowing. He was beautiful, really, and suddenly all Seth wanted to do was kiss him. So he did, not letting himself hesitate, and there was no hesitation from Finn, either, wrapping an arm around Seth’s shoulders to pull him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's...finally...finished...*collapses*
> 
> It should be noted I have like zero idea what the actual canon mythology of Finn's demon is, but I thought it'd be cool to use actual Irish mythology for this. :)
> 
> Thanks so much, guys, for your comments and your kudos! I hope you liked this little story of mine! And feel free to come talk to me on my Tumblr (while it lasts? :/) tvlerblack. Love!


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